


Healing

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff I guess, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, One Shot, everyone is human demondean is over and cas is generally okay with humanity, maybe some angst? not really dean is just a little bummed out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2908274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is tired of the loneliness that comes after hunts. The silence filling up his head and the sting of his own hand tending to cuts. Then, Dean's not so lonely anymore - thanks to a certain ex-angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing

It's a long hunt. It shouldn't have been, but it was - Dean had thought it was going to be a simple salt and burn, something small after all the demon crap. But then that turned into a poltergeist, which turned into  _three_ poltergeists, which turned into all three of them getting hurt. Sam was the worst off: both eyes blackened and one swollen shut, sprained elbow, dislocated shoulder, and Dean was pretty sure he'd lost a tooth. Cas had some bruises and a gash on his arm, but he was fine otherwise. Dean's face was bruised around the jaw, purpling and swollen slightly. Cuts covered his face and hands, and his nose had been bleeding steadily since they'd gotten back in the car. 

He drives back to the bunker, Sam asleep in the passenger seat and Cas in the back. He's leaning against one of the windows, gazing at the night sky with that soft expression he wears so often now. Dean doesn't really know what that expression is supposed to actually  _express -_ it's just a gentle down turn of his lips, the lines in his forehead disappearing and his eyes seeming a little foggier. Whenever it happens, he looks younger. The weight of everything floating away for a moment, letting Cas sit back and do nothing for a second. 

As Dean pulls up into the driveway, Cas wakes up Sam and they help him hobble to the front entrance. He probably needs first aid, but he's so damn exhausted that he collapses on the first semi-soft surface he can see - the couch in the main library. 

Cas walks away, a gruff "Good night, Dean" puffing out of his lips. Dean takes care of his brother's small cuts, leaving some ice next to him for when he wakes up. He makes sure to brush all the hair out of Sam's face and take his jacket off, trying to make sure he's semi-comfortable. After all, he doesn't want a grumpy, sleep-deprived sibling to deal with in the morning. 

The bunker always feels cold at night, and the chill makes Dean shiver. The hallways are dark and there's an eerie quality to the way his footsteps echo, an emptiness in the sound. When Dean finally gets to his own room, the sight of  _his_ bed and  _his_ pillow makes him want to cry. Even though the hunt had sucked and they were all worse for wear, Dean had a home now. These things  _belonged to him._ Sure, they'd probably belonged to some dead guy fifty years ago, but they're Dean's now and he couldn't be happier. 

Well, he could be. He'd definitely be happier if he had someone to take care of the damn gashes in his skin. 

He sits on the bed for a second, appreciating the soft mattress and the way it fits to his body. He knows that he should get up and tend to the wounds, but that seems so tiring. Dean's tired of having to take care of all that himself - his whole life, he's been mending his own tattered pieces together, and he's sick of it. But he has to do it anyway, so he rises from his spot and walks to the communal bathroom in the next hallway.

The bunker is pretty nice, but one thing that Dean doesn't really like is the bathroom. Sure, there's great water pressure and infinite soap, but it feels more like a slightly-fancy locker room than a real bathroom. The showers are divided into stalls and the sinks aren't anything special. The floor is simple white tile and there aren't any mats to be seen (Dean's slipped and almost cracked his head open plenty of times). He walks in, expecting the usual emptiness and barren stalls, but finds the room slightly steamy when he walks in. 

"Cas?" Dean calls out the name, hoping to God that the guy won't walk out naked. He'd done it before, and the only thing that had done for Dean was fuel that part of his brain he tried so hard to ignore. Staring at miles of tanned, damp skin hadn't helped Dean in the slightest. 

"Fourth stall," Cas calls back, voice sounding softer than it had before. Dean had started to notice stuff like that since Cas had chosen to stay. All these little quirks kept popping up in their brand-new human, one of them being the way Cas' voice got so much gentler after a shower.

Dean didn't really know why he had started noticing shit like that. 

He walks up to the sinks, kneeling down to find one of the multiple first aid kits hidden inside. If there was one thing the Men of Letters had done absolutely right, it was preparedness for every ailment on the planet. Even the most minor or scratches has a specific kit and ointment to go with it, and Dean pulled out one with the label "MEDIUM-LEVEL CUTS/BRUISES". The box clicked as he opened it, sliding down against the counter and letting his legs hit the floor. It was tiring standing up for so long. 

The kit contained an alcohol solution, antiseptic ointment, antibiotic ointment, band-aids, and plenty of other healing stuff that could help his face. He tugged out a cotton ball as Cas stepped out from behind the stalls, sweatpants clinging onto his hips and one of Sam's old blue shirts hanging over his back. The Winchesters had both lent him clothes to wear, Dean giving him too-small band shirts that he was too attached to to donate, Sam giving him a generous amount of long-sleeved t-shirts that swallowed Cas' frame entirely. Dean hated to admit it, but Cas looked fucking adorable most of the time. No longer covered up by the trench or the ugly suit, now he could see his friend in clothes he was actually comfortable in. And right now, Cas looked real fuckin' adorable. 

"Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean responds, voice sounding far more dead to the world than he intended. He tries again. "Yeah?"

"Are you alright? You have not tended to your cuts yet," Cas moves closer as he talks, eventually standing just in front of the other man. His hair is wet and looks almost black in the weird bathroom lighting, a droplet of water spattering onto the floor. 

"Nah, I'm about to. Just... needed a second. Y'know?" Dean looks up at him then, not prepared for the look on Cas' face. It's not that soft look he was expecting - there's something fierce in his eyes, almost angry. Before he can register what's happening, Cas is bending down beside him and ripping the kit out of his hands, taking out a cleaning wipe and scooting closer. "Cas?"

"Shut up." 

Those words aren't expected either, but Dean follows the command. Cas is gentler with his hands than Dean would have been - Dean would have scrubbed over the red marks and blue clouds sprouting on his cheeks, scalding water burning and stinging and keeping him sane. But Cas is gentle in his motions, fingers tracing the outline of his cheekbones before running the wipe over his blood-speckled skin. He spends a two minutes just cleaning, careful to not sting any cuts or cause Dean any more pain.

After that - which felt  _far_ too intimate - Cas pulls out a cotton ball and runs some of the alcoholic solution over it, giving Dean a warning look before bringing his hand to the other man's forehead. It stings like hell, but Dean keeps a straight face because for once, Cas  _isn't_ looking at him. Cas always looks at him, all the time, but right now, he's not. His focus rests entirely on taking care of all the scrapes and gashes on Dean's skin, the slightest gesture of discomfort making him pause. Dean doesn't want to admit it, but he loves this. Loves the attention and the closeness, not just because of that, but because it's  _Cas._

Cas picks up some of the ointment. He's even gentler with this, somehow - because now it's just him, skin on skin, gently touching Dean in a way that makes Dean feel worshiped.  _It's nothing, it's nothing - he's just nice, he doesn't feel this, he's not feeling this._ But another part of Dean's brain screams at him, trying to tell him how could someone  _not_ feel the electricity humming between them? Every touch is a shock of warmth down Dean's spine, flooding through his tired body and down to his fingertips. He itches to reach out and touch, to do  _something,_ but he doesn't. He can't. 

Castiel finishes by placing two band-aids on the worst cuts, blood finally gone from Dean's skin and nothing but wonder in his eyes. The pain and stress of the hunt has been washed away, all because of Cas.  _Cas._

"Why'd you do that?" Dean asks, and his voice sounds softer. He reaches up and touches the bruising near his jaw, the one thing Castiel couldn't really fix. Cas' hand moves to meet his, fingers tracing down the length of his jaw. He takes a deep breath before speaking, voice quiet but too loud in the silence surrounding them.

"I used to be able to heal you with a single touch. Now, this is the best that I can do."

He moves to pull his hand away, eyes filled with longing as he stares into the Dean's gaze. But Dean can't let him go - not after that, not after  _this,_ after a hunt where they all almost died and then Cas fucking  _took care of him_ and _cleaned his wounds_ and no one had ever done that for Dean before and all he wants to do is  _hold Cas' fucking hand goddamnit-_

 

Cas holds onto Dean's calloused fingers, grip warm and firm. He rubs his thumb on the back of Dean's hand, careful not to hurt the bruising on his knuckles. He leans forward, placing the softest kiss to Dean's hand. The air is trapped in his lungs as he watches Cas lean forward and he feels lips brush his skin again, and Dean doesn't know whether he's going to cry or smile. He decides on the latter when Cas pulls away, hand slipping from Dean's without a sound. 

"Good night, Dean."

Castiel's voice is still soft, and there's still that fire behind the gentleness in his eyes. He said goodnight, but he's still sitting there, right next to Dean - they're just inches apart and staring into each other's eyes like usual, but Dean feels something different this time. He feels something that's strangely like warmth filling him up and stars exploding around him, emotion for something he knows but won't name. It inspires him to act for the first time, forcing Dean to lean up from his spot on the ground and kiss Castiel's forehead, because Cas deserves things as gentle as he is. He deserves so much more than that, but for now, Dean knows that Castiel, fallen angel, deserves to be kissed gently and softly with the same care that he gave Dean. 

So he does. 

He kisses him on the forehead again, lips lingering, and then he pulls away and plants two gentle pecks on still-rosy cheeks. Dean tilts Cas' head up _just slightly_ with two fingers under his chin, lips warm and chapped against Dean's own. It's chaste and soft and wonderful, and Dean gives the other man a tiny smile when Cas pulls away. 

"G'night, Cas."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!  
> feedback and comments are appreciated~  
> (UNEDITED)


End file.
